Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.

Alas, how love can trifle with itself!

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.

The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.

But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.

thus with a kiss I die